Tonight's Poet Corner: Wailing of the Walls

Wailing of the Walls
by Belinda Roddie

The patchwork girl, she sits and spins
the cobwebs in the corners. Dust is dust,
and tiny legs leave tiny prints across
the wood, as rotten as an overly ripe
fruit. Not even the termites will find
a hearty meal in the cellar tonight.

Your hair splits both ways, gray
as Zeus's lightning. It's lost its
luster; he is old now, and tired.
Even his beard has lost
its static beauty.

The broken clock you left behind
is wet with loose wine. Earthquakes
have depleted your supply
of happiness. Stale pills
are not a good substitute
in the dark. The bottle's dry.

The hearth has burnt out. There
is no warmth. There is only
the distant keening of widows
in black shawls, trapped between
the splinters of your walls.
Frayed postcards. Rusted
souvenirs. Going,
going, gone.